


Chuck's Secret

by EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7/pseuds/EmilArchangelNemisis_Tardis_Pantalaemon7
Summary: Sooo the apocalypse is over and Chuck's been kicking back, having a drink, putting his metaphysical feet up. Until Dean Winchester comes scrambling through his door, covered in mud from purgatory.God has been deliberately keeping himself out of the loop so he is as surprised as anyone, but he helps, in his own way, as Chuck. But as Chuck and Dean begin an increasingly serious relationship and his feelings for Dean, always one of his favourites, begin to change, how will he explain the increasingly random things he knows and does?Dean is in denial and Sam is getting suspicious, even Cas knows something is up and Chuck can't deal with all the pressure. Will he be able to stay for Dean? Will Dean ever figure out the truth?
Relationships: Chuck Shurley/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68





	1. Look Who's Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdmara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmara/gifts), [ArchAngelCassiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchAngelCassiel/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders." - Friedrich Nietzsche

Dean released Benny and stumbled out into the dark down the mud track to the road. He hoped he wouldn't end up Benny's dinner, but didn't have the energy to care much right now. After some time, he couldn't say how long, he came across a New England style wood slate house, tucked in just off the road, nestled in the trees. It looked well maintained and there was a light on so he went and knocked on the door, already halfway through drafting his story about having been kidnapped, when a very familiar face appeared. 

"Sorry to disturb you, but I... Chuck?"

The prophet's face flushed. "I er... I mean, yes?"

Dean scowled. He ain't got time for this shit. He'd just got out of purgatory and he did not want to be dealing with supposedly deceased prophets. "You gonna let me in?" 

He asked as he shoved his way past Chuck who seemed to be attempting to press himself into the wall to dodge his filthy clothes. Dean paused in the entrance hall. This did not look like Chuck's house. At least not how he thought it should look and how the other one had. For one thing it was neat. No empty bottles and pizza boxes scattered everywhere, as he turned to look at his unwilling host he noticed that he was clean too. Still in white undergarments and that tacky bath robe, but clean. He was even clean shaven. Dean stared.

Even if he had been aware in that moment how much like a serial killer he looked, with his grave dug clothes and red eyes, he would not have cared. Braver men than Chuck had cowed before that look and, as God, the Almighty, Creator of Worlds, Lord of Heaven, Wrath of Righteousness, was currently holidaying in the form of a thirty year old author with a drinking problem, he decided to cower too, also it _might_ have had to do with the fact that he knew how badass the Winchesters actually were and that, if anyone could find a way to destroy him in a universe which should not hold anything harmful to him, they could. But then it might not. He hadn't decided whether he was actually a coward yet and, upon reflection, decided he would rather not know. Man did more than enough reflecting on the nature of himself without him sticking his great ugly nose in. 

He cleared his throat. Awkward conversation starters, here we go.

“So er, how’d you end up way out here?”

“Don’t you know?”

Chuck shook his head slowly, he’d been avoiding Knowing. Though he obviously could if he wanted too.

“Purgatory.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. He’d sorta assumed things would go back to normal after the apocalypse that wasn’t, he knew they hadn’t, but life was depressing enough without knowing every detail of it. He felt terrible, he felt like Gabriel dodging everything important, but to be fair to him he had defended the world for millennia and it was supposed to be a self-sustaining system. He only left when he couldn't take it anymore, a mid-eternity life crisis.

What can he say? You try dealing with all the agony of the concentration camps and gulags and Polpot and not have a breakdown. His kids hadn’t been supposed to go off the rails, but he’d been mismanaging them, limping along for so long…

Being a single dad is hard? He invented fatherhood, made it up as he went along, so yeah there were mistakes… so many.

At Dean’s statement Chuck felt the heavy pall of an imminent depression land on his shoulders, but he asked anyway.

“Wh…what happened?”

Dean narrowed his eyes as if wondering whether he wanted an honest answer. “Raphael tried to re-open the Cage, so Cas started a war in Heaven and stopped him, but in order to do that he needed to rip open Purgatory and let out the Leviathan. Or, well, _he_ thought he needed too anyway.” Dean frowned, eyes distant. “Anyway we tracked the buggers and used the Word of God to figure out a way to kill them. Only turns out the side effect was the things take you down with ‘em. God seems to like that sort of thing.”

Chuck flinched almost imperceptibly, ‘Sure, mention that and not the handy emergency exit placed there for _exactly this reason._ And hey at least he’s had the foresight (ha ha ha) to leave his notes lying around. Ok though Leviathan probably were something he should have been around for. Especially with the Archangels gone.

He had sensed Raphael’s death and at that he’d sunk even further into isolation and wilful ignorance then he already was. Aware of this he had granted a new prophet once he knew someone was looking for the tablets, guessed a new prophet was probably needed. Hey, it wasn’t fun letting other beings in his brain, even if only a tiny part of it so no, he wasn’t just going to share the knowledge willy nilly. [That was a weird expression. A weird expression and a good one so sue him (someone did once) but he was going to use it!]

“B…but,” he swallowed to wet his dry throat, “You’re still here.”

“Yeah”, Dean said still frowning, “Yeah I got out.” A strange expression crossed his face for just a moment, but it wasn’t there long enough for Chuck to see what it was. Whatever it was Dean ‘I-don’t-do-feelings-Winchester’ was quick to cover it up. Meeting Chucks eyes he asked “I don’t suppose you know where Sam is do you?”

Blinking rapidly Chuck replied, quiet, but coherent “No. I haven’t seen Sam in some time, but I’d been happy to help you find him.” No he wouldn’t. He wasn’t solving other people’s problems, why did he say that? He mentally kicked himself. “But for right now though, you should stay here. It’s not much, but it’s clean and I should have some old clothes that fit you.”

For a moment Dean looked like he was going to decline, but then he changed his mind. Chuck knew the Winchesters too well to assume that it was the exhaustion or the hunger that did it. He wanted to be nearby in case Cas got out. Huh. Cas is in purgatory. Oh well, he’d get out eventually. Probably. Maybe I’ll lend a hand after a while, and dammit, this is why Chuck was a recluse. It wasn’t just that everyone else wanted him to fix their problems, it was that a large part of him did too and then he just ended up not coping.

He sighed, nodded at Dean and guided him to the bathroom, where he handed him an extra towel and, after a little rummaging (purely for show of course) provided him with appropriate clothing. Before he could say Holy Gospel, Dean was snoring away on his couch.

Chuck lent back against the armchair from where he was sitting on the floor, cradling a glass of fine malt and watching the flames in the hearth flicker across the glass and the face of his new guest. His unexpected guest. Nothing was ever unexpected for him before and since he’d made that possible he had learned to just go with the flow, afterall, his creation couldn’t hurt him. Not like how it hurt his creatures.

Dean. He was so proud of Dean. Of both of them really. If anyone had been watching they would have seen a small sad smile grace his features and he lent forward and lovingly caressed a little of Dean’s short hair away from his face. Dean’s soul lit up a little at the gentle touch and Chuck ran his hand through Dean’s hair, gently humming the calmest Metallica song he could think of to ease Dean into rest.

In the morning Dean woke up alone. The embers of the fire still glowing and relishing the most peaceful night of sleep he’d had since his mother died.


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck and Dean spend sometime getting to know eachother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone out there who wrote such wonderful comments, I really appreciate it and it is because of you that I have decided to continue this work. I'm hoping to publish a chapter every week from now on. THANK YOU!!!
> 
> Also while it is not described in detail there is implied sex in this chapter. Not sure what rating to give it or how much detail to give it but still retain the emotion behind it so I went for the middle ground, hopefully it works. Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> “Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” - 'Dumbledore', J.K. Rowling

Upon arrival in the kitchen Dean found Chuck dancing to some pop song on the radio and humming as he swayed his way around the frying pan, flipping pancakes to the music.

Dean stared for a moment, then blinked and shook his head. He was still having some difficulty adjusting from Purgatory. Here, life had colour and crystal clear sounds, unmuffled by thick foggy air. No one was out to get him, no Cas to keep track of like another baby brother. Just him. What was he going to do now? Chuck turned and smiled at him and Dean felt something warm and soft in his chest, to his horror Dean found that he had smiled back involuntarily and quickly morphed his expression into a scowl, but by then Chuck had turned back around and Dean found himself both mildly irritated and somewhat pleased that the prophet hadn’t seen his change in expression. Two opposing emotions, confused, that’s what Dean was and he didn’t like being confused goddammit.

“Why is the bathroom set up for two? You got a girlfriend here or something?”

“I er… well you never know when someone’s gonna stop by and er, I mean not that people do, usually, but…”

“You found this place like that didn’t you?”

Chuck craftily conceals his sigh of relief behind a huff of what he hopes passes for wry amusement. Yeah, that’s right, _craftily_.

“I did, yeah.” Cue sheepish look. The corner of Dean’s lips twitch. Ah, he could do with smiling more. Y’know when he hasn’t just fought his way outta Purgatory. Chuck frowns.

“So er…” He clears his throat a little, maybe overdoing the awkward vibe, but whatever.

“Do you even own this place?” Dean interrupts him. “I thought you were rockin’ the whole impoverished author vibe, what you just find a random cabin in the woods?”

Chuck blinks. “Kinda, not exactly. It belonged to a cousin.”

“Dead?” Dean’s face is expressionless. Time to move on to lighter subjects, Chuck thinks.

“So er…”

“So you gonna tell me or what?”

Chuck narrows his eyes, “Tell you what?”

“How you can still be alive and Kevin Tran still be a prophet? Isn’t there like a one at a time rule or something?”

Chuck panics momentarily before remembering a loophole he saw in a TV show once, thank you Buffy!

“I technically died. I mean, my heart stopped beating, but I got resuscitated.” Oh yes, he was very proud of himself for coming up with that one.

Dean frowned, “What happened?”

“Uuuh,” Crap. He couldn’t say it was an accident that had nothing to do with the supernatural otherwise it would look too suspicious and he supposedly had an _Archangel_ guarding him, he couldn’t have just drowned in a puddle like humans so often did. Darn he’d forgotten about the Archangel.

“Well, I guess Raphael would’ve been distracted by the war, right?” Good, reason it through, “So he wasn’t around when a bunch of stupid demons showed up,” some of them would be stupid enough to go after a prophet certainly, “and thought it would be fun to drown me. Guess I must’ve registered as dead on the celestial scale or something. Anyway something must’ve scared them off, cause my neighbour heard something and called the ambulance. Or maybe the angels just wanted them to find my body, who knows.”

Dean grimaced in sympathy and shrugged. Yeah, he probably knows what it is like to drown.

“Right, well, I’d better call my brother. Before he does something stupid to try and rescue me.” And, without asking, Dean grabbed a nearby landline, punched in a number and held it to his ear. Chuck took that as his cue to start clearing stuff away. When he was pretending to be a barely functional prophet he had just left things as they were, and, to be honest, he was still barely functional, but in this case it gave him something to do. Dean dialled number after number scowling more and more as each one came back disconnected. In the end he phoned another Hunter to see if they knew where Sam was. Then another. Eventually one of them did. Chuck froze as the voice rung loud through the empty house. “Sam? Sure didn’t he hook up with that vet a while back? I heard he retired, got a dog and everything. Sure will be glad t’ hear your back though. Should I tell ‘im?”

“No.” Dean spoke quickly, but vehemently and hung up up the phone stalking over to the couch and sitting on it, coiled and rigid with so much anger and stress he could have been rough hewn rock. Chuck grimaced and removed his bright pink cleaning gloves.

“Hey uh, Dean. How about a game of cards to pass the time?”

Dean scowled moodily and looked away.

‘Get Dean to relax’, Chuck thought to himself eyeing the whiskey.

\-----

Dean and Chuck collapsed drunkenly onto the damp grass, laughing breathily. The house had a back porch which led onto a lawn surrounded by woods and that was where they were.

Dean inhaled the scene of damp earth and wet grass and old wood and the stale scent of clean linen from the man next to him. All the smells that had been missing in Purgatory. He could've laughed, he could've cried, he was too out of it to do either.

“Sammy and I used to do this. Just stop the car somewhere quiet and look out at the stars.”

Chuck smiled sadly at him. “Do you know the story of Ursula Major?”

Dean glanced over at him, “No, I don’t.”

Chuck grinned and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he looked up at the sky. “It’s the big bear, that one, there.” He pointed and a contemplative expression settled on his face. “The Native Americans used to say the Trickster god Coyote made that. One night he saw the wolves howling up at the stars and he asked them why they were howling. So the lead wolf said he was howling because he wanted to visit the moon and couldn’t get there. Then a big bear and a little bear came along and said they wanted to see the moon too. So Coyote went and got spider to make them a ladder into the sky and led the bears and the wolves all the way up. Only while the bears and the wolves were talking to the moon about all he had seen Coyote got bored and so he came back down, rolling up the spider web as he went so that the bears and wolves were stuck up in the sky forever.”

Dean huffed a laugh and said, “Yeah, that sounds like something a trickster would do.”

Chuck smiled back, “Well Coyote may have left the bears there, but it’s the other stars that keep them. Have you heard the Slavic tale of the bear?”

Dean shook his head, but he looked interested so Chuck carried on. “In Slavic mythology there are two sisters: the morning star and the evening star, children of the sun god. Each must keep vigil over the bear, morning and night, who is chained to Polaris. If ever they cease their vigil, the bear will break free and consume the world.”

“I thought Lucifer was the morning star?”

Chuck shrugged, “It varies between cultures, the morning star is important for navigation so its importance tends to vary according to who is telling the tale and who they prefer to worship.”

Dean twisted to look at him, “How’d you know all these stories?”

Chuck shrugged with a cheeky grin, “I’m an author, it’s what I do. ‘After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.” He quoted.

Dean snorted, “And here I thought it was more demon killing guns.”

“You are such an American.” Chuck told him wryly.

“We don’t need lists of rights and wrongs, tables of do’s and don’t: we need books, time and silence. Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever.”

Chuck stared at him. “What?” Dean asked slyly, “I can read too.”

Chuck smiled and settled back into his chair. “I know you can Dean, I know you can.” For all people liked to focus on Sammy’s nerdiness, Dean was no fool either, he just prioritised different kinds of knowledge.

“Books and cleverness, there are more important things. Friendship and bravery…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Just my luck I get stuck with someone whose as much of a Harry Potter nerd as Sammy.”

“You say that like someone who didn’t pretend to be ill just so he could stay at the motel and read the entire Deathly Hallows in one day and night.” Chuck observed and Dean’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.” He mumbled taking another swig of beer. Chuck smirked.

Dean wondered if 'fallen stars' was just another metaphor for 'angel', but that thought threatened to turn dark so he buried it under the emotional detritus Winchesters always keep handy for such occasions. Changing the subject he began, "Sammy always used to believe in Angels, Heaven, all that bull. But me? Nah, I never wanted it to be real. Figured if it were it would be a disappointment. Still told Sam stories about 'em though. If he asked. Made up most of 'em... That one there." He pointed. "Leo. I know it's supposed to be some lion Hercules killed, but I changed it for 'im. Said it was some guardian angel. I don't know, maybe I just made it worse when the angels actually did come."

He turned his head and the look in Chuck's grey eyes was so sad and so understanding it immediatly made Dean's skin crawl and so he turned away clearing his throat, taking a swig of his beer and playing Metallica in his head to drown out his thoughts. They stayed there for quite sometime, not talking much, just getting very very drunk.

Sometime around midnight, Dean felt Chuck lean against him and stiffened, but Chuck slurred "Jus' take a darned hug al, hip" he snickered at his own hiccups, "already." He then slumped against Dean's side and promptly began snorring.

Dean huffed and curled one arm around Chuck’s back, placing the other on top of the arm on his chest. Well, just this once, who’s gonna know? He sighed happily and eased into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in years, a normal persons kind of sleep.

Chuck got a small contented smile on his face. He was glad he had guessed right. In Purgatory Dean had had to be strong all the time, his emotions locked away tighter than Fort Knox, but as he had begun to relax during the day he had ranged from cold and hard to emotionally vulnerable, stressed and anxious as the strain of all those days had begun to show at last. Chuck had guessed that after drinking he would be in the ‘emotionally vulnerable’ stage and would therefore be open to cuddling, because darn it the man deserved a hug. And if he happened to enjoy cuddling? Well that was no one’s business, but his own.


	3. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so I wasn't happy with this and went back to change a bit so things aren't moving quite so fast in this fic... and I know what your thinking, this fic is moving at a glacial pace anyway, but it will, one day, be completed. Don't shoot me, I have my reasons. Anyway, these changes feed into some of the comments i got that the boys were moving too fast, an you know what? You're right. So I re-write. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters." - Friedrich Nietzsche

Dean was used to sleeping on the ground by now, but he nearly freaked out when he realised there was a warm weight pressing against his side, until he opened his eyes. The clouds above him were candy floss pink in a deep blue sky. Purgatory could not have produced a sky like that. He smiled down at the fluffy brown head on his shoulder and took a moment to appreciate the fact that, despite having fallen asleep on damp wet grass he felt completely dry. He frowned as he thought about ‘cuddling’, but before he had a chance to extract himself, Chuck looked up and smiled, he streached and in doing so created the distance between them that Dean had needed.

“I recon we need a shower.” Chuck’s voice was a little horse as he grimaced down at their dusty, grass stained clothes. He gave Dean an apologetic smile and stood, saying “Right well you go do that, I’ll get breakfast on the go.”

Dean grunted, annoyed at himself for sleeping on the ground, again, when there was a perfectly good bed that would not have affected his aging back just a few yards away. And outside? Exposed next to a virtual stranger? What was wrong with him? He wasn't **that** thick a drunk. 

Chuck hummed to himself as the flipped Dean’s fried egg, cooked all the way through, just like Dean liked it. He wondered if Dean would notice if he did everything just the way he liked it, probably not. Dean would just think Chuck liked things done that way too, or that it was a prophet thing. Yeah, say it was a prophet thing. He checked the bathroom with his powers and seeing that Dean hadn’t noticed the shower gel yet changed it to ‘Tobacco Scented’, one of Dean’s favourites. What the hell, kid had been through a tough time and as long as it was only one kid he had to look after and not... No, no not gonna think about that. He grimaced as the prayers he'd been avoiding clamoured back to the front of his head for a moment, so many in need of help, so desperate... he did manage to push them back, but as always the action left a bad taste in his mouth and guilt heavy behind his sternum. He turned up the radio as if it could silence the thoughts in his head.

It wasn’t long before Dean came back down stairs, skin still pale, but clean. Chuck smiled weakly at him.

Dean did not smile back and Chuck resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he _did,_ don’t be mean, and served them both eggs, putting the pan back on the stove and sitting in one smooth movement.

“Look…” Dean began.

Chuck’s grey eyes were looking deep into his when Dean looked up. “You want to stay a while? Get back on your feet and wait for Cas?”

Dean blinked, the offer unexpected. "Er... Yeah, actually. That'd be great."

Chuck gave him a soft smile in return.

Dean gave an amused huff, “Yeah, I guess you know me pretty well, huh.”

Chuck’s lips twitched. _More than you know Dean, more than you know._

“Dean I get it. You’ve been through a Hell of a lot,” He grimaced slightly at the choice of words, but hurried on, “I’m here to help you recover, whatever you need. If you need me to give you space, I’ll give you space. If you need someone to yell at, yell at me. And if you just need someone to talk too who can understand...” Chuck looked serious as he said this last part, but Dean huffed and took another bite of his food.

“I doubt anyone could _understand_ Purgatory.”

“If I can’t empathise, I can sympathise. And besides, you never know, I might have a different perspective on it. That can be useful. I mean, yeah a lot of your life sucks, but it’s not your fault you were chosen.” _By me_ he finished in his head. Though that wasn’t technically true. The angels had manipulated the bloodlines to make Sam and Dean possible, not realising that in creating the strongest humans they were creating the strongest soldiers to oppose them, but Chuck had told them _how_. Had told them that it was possible for archangels to walk the earth in the correct vessels, he had done it in the hopes of getting them to understand Humanity, and even now he remembered seeing that once potential future blocked off like a brick wall with every decision Michael made. But back to helping Dean Winchester…

“I just mean, yes things will always be after your blood and I doubt you could have or would ever want a normal life at this stage, after all, who could understand it all? But that doesn’t mean you can’t do the odd normal thing. When was the last time you and Sammy drove half way across the country for a baseball game? Or to visit a national monument? Heck you could probably be excellent pranksters if you wanted.” He tried not to think about Gabriel. “I know some people in Washington who deserve it.” He joked. “I’m just saying, whatever you need ok?” He turned back to his food and a few beats of silence later heard a muttered. “Thank you”, from Dean. He smiled as he ate.

Things were going to be okay, Chuck hoped. He didn't dare look.

\-----

After that Chuck and Dean fell into a routine, namely one where Dean did all the DIY Chuck never knew the house needed, including painting the outside of the house, re-vamping chuck’s poor excuse for a pick-up truck and weeding the small patch of grass between where the porch ended and the forest began.

It was amazing how easy Dean found it to live with Chuck. They moved around each other as though they’d been doing it their whole lives and Chuck always seemed to know what he needed. Daytime rest had been an almost foreign concept to Dean since John had always insisted on keeping regular work hours where possible. When Chuck had told him to go to bed after that first breakfast and Dean had said he wasn’t tired, however, Chuck had all but laughed in his face.

“You spent a year on the run,” he’d said, “go get some sleep.” Dean hadn’t been entirely sure whether he should be insulted or not, but, with Chuck’s urging, he had gone to sleep and now almost couldn’t seem to stop. It was like once given permission to rest all the weight of what he’d been through had come down on him at once. Chuck wasn’t worried, Dean would recover, and it would take as long as it took. It was about time anyway.


	4. Hope and Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck hints at his thoughts on Heaven, Dean gets more comfortable around him. Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The stories we love live on in us forever”-JK Rowling

Someone, somewhere in the world, was having a very good day. Chuck could feel it. With his good mood the world had become just that bit sunnier (not literally, he wasn’t responsible for global warming thank you very much), now people were recovering just that bit faster, the horrors of the world feeling like nightmares as they woke to a brand new day.

The point was... having company, even one as alternately surly and hopeful as Dean Winchester, was doing Chuck good. He had something else to focus on. While Dean was working on the house and Chuck was 'typing up ideas for his next novel' (he had no idea what he was doing), Chuck could still hear Dean's tapes blaring out of the old stereo Chuck had 'found' in the garage and the extra life was motivating Chuck to start working his way out of the mood he'd got himself into. The evenings were the best, when he and Dean sat and properly ate and talked. Then it felt like he was a part of his creation, not just some remote celestial being in charge of fixing things, but part of the family, the hustle and bustle of life, Dean talked like his opinions mattered and now, free for a while from his hunting lifestyle, Dean was able to talk about some of his own. Oh he was still inclined to say 'nothing could be changed', 'that's just the way things are', that's how depressed people ofter are, Chuck should know, but at least he voiced those opinions now. Chuck wasn't sure how much his thoughts on life the universe and everything had really been explored before, John and Sam were too caught up in their own ideas and they were the sort of thoughts Hunter Extrodinaire Dean Winchester would never normally voice, if he wasn't currently rooming with a drunk civilian author. In short, things were going well. They were curled up by the battered half of Chuck's wood-burning stove and, somehow, they had got onto the subject of Archangels, of whom Dean was, understandably dismissive.

“My point is, yes Heaven and the Archangels and even God have broken down as a system, but they kept limping along for a _very very_ long time and not just for our planet either. You’re seeing the system at its worst, in fact you are _only_ seeing it because it’s failing. Who knows how many people really did benefit from it? But I agree, there are too many dependent on too few, too flawed beings.”

“They had no concept of Free Will.” Dean fierce, passionate. “You got a choice. You’ve always got a choice, even a man with a gun to his head has a choice. Not a nice choice, but still a choice. Sometimes it’s all you do have. And they were stupid enough to think they could take that from us.”

Chuck hummed, looking over at Dean. He really was incredible. His bravery was unparalleled, the sort of man that reminded Chuck why he kept going after all these years. He had no problem acknowledging that his Creation had long since surpassed the Creator, but he had to keep fighting for it anyway. Because of people like Dean.

“You know, the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common; they don’t alter their views to fit the facts; the alter the facts to fit their views. Which can be very uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering. You were one of the facts. Your refusal. And the Archangels hadn't experienced that in a long time. I kinda wonder if there shouldn't be a retirement point at which their grace gets passed on to someone else and they live like humans for a bit, kinda like prophets, but, falling instead of dying. Less arrogance that way. That power would corrupt anyone.” _Even him._ He finished the thought, but he couldn't... he didn't know how to... He just was! He wasn't strong enough to be a father to his creations, but he couldn't pass the burden on and those he'd tried to share it with... He swallowed, staring hard into the fire. These were just ideas, fruitless, pointless ideas he'd ruminated on a hundred times before, but too late now. The Archangels were as good as gone and if he stepped in again all the independence and self reliance clawed out in his absence would be gone. 

Dean huffed, "Well I guess I'm one to talk, huh? I've only been on the earth, what? Three decades an' I couldn't even save my family, right? God must be laughing his ass off at us thinkin' on givin' him advise with Sammy and my messed up lives."

“No, actually. I’ve seen it all too, and I admire you. I admire you more than anyone I’ve ever met.” When Dean looked confused, Chuck decided to explain it with a story. Oh so he hadn’t changed since the biblical days, so sue him. He loved parables.

“Dean, Do you know what a second in eternity is? There’s this story about it. See once there was an Emperor who asks this shepherd’s boy, 'How many seconds in eternity?' And the shepherd’s boy says, 'There’s this mountain of pure diamond, and it takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it. Every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain, and when the entire mountain is chiseled away, the first second of eternity will have passed.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well you might say that’s a very long time, but personally? I'd say that’s one hell of a bird. You and Sam are that bird overcoming impossible obstacles through sheer persistence and will. ‘Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.’”

“Did… did you just make a Game of Thrones reference?”

Chuck grinned, "Writer. Everything I say is stolen from better men."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, but Chuck could see he was thinking on it. Chuck had always been a humanist. Some humans may believe in him, but he definitely believed in them. Especially Dean. He hummed as he hopped up from his comfy seat. Dean pulled his legs out of the way and watched in bemusement as Chuck riffled through the papers on his desk, throwing them everywhere and looking every bit the mad eccentric in his bath robe.

"Ah ha!" Chuck held a thick stack of twisted tea stained papers a loft like the flame of liberty and slammed it down onto Dean's lap as he passed. Seeing Dean glancing at him like he'd lost his mind, Chuck explained, "My ending for the Supernatural series. Where Sam jumps in the pit."

Dean grimaced and moved to shove them away, "No thanks. I lived through that, I ain't looking to do it again," but Chucks hand on his arm stilled him. Why were his eyes so striking? Like storm clouds. Weren't gray eyes supposed to be boring? Dull?

Chuck smiled, "Keep them. I don't know why, but I get the feeling you're going to want to have them. No idea why, but... Prophet of the Lord. Best not to ignore it."

Dean stared at him as he slowly brought the papers back into his lap, glancing down at them. Chuck, he often looked a bit dazed, madly frantic, depressed, laughing, but rarely so calmly intent. So certain. Dean kept the papers, though, at that moment, he could not have told you why. 

Actually, at that moment, neither could Chuck. He wasn't lying about Dean wanting them, but it was a whisper of a future that might be, hanging at the edge of his consciousness, just blurred enough to be obscured, but getting stronger all the time. He didn't look. He didn't want to know. This wilful ignorance could not be healthy... But he just didn't care.

They sat back and stared into the fire and as it burnt itself to embers Dean's breathing gently evened out. Chuck hummed to himself reaching forward to brush Dean’s hair back from his forehead and found himself filled with fond affection like a warm hearth fire glowing in his chest. He shuffled down further into his seat, pulling his blanket over him and curling up to wait till morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's wordy, I just wanna show you where their heads are at. More action soon I promise.... Our Sammy boy may start to think there's something odd about this prophet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. - Friedrich Nietzsche

Today was a Bad Day.

It had all started off with the resumption of conflict in the Sudan and another round of terrorist attacks in Pakistan and Kenya, and mass shootings in Venezuela. Chuck was being buried under with prayers, their pain dragging him down. He was operating parts of himself, sending them off to go find subtle ways of helping as much as he could, but it was difficult.

Chuck was, unbeknownst to him, curled up on the sofa hands clamped over his head, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he rocked back and forth, moaning and, also unbeknownst to him, scaring the crap out of one Dean Winchester. 

There were religious organisation carrying out some of the atrocities and it always felt worse when they claimed to be doing it all in his name. Not that he cared, his name meant very little to him these days, his ego thoroughly destroyed by his creation, but it did mean that he had to keep a closer eye on what his powers were doing so they didn’t accidentally grant the wrong sort of prayer. It would be a shame if a part of him wiped out the Western World just because of a throw away comment. Recently, of course, he had cut himself off from all prayers, but last night he had thought to relax that a little bit, he had seen how he was helping Dean and his cautiously optimistic side wondered if there were just one or two others he could help in the same way. He was cursing that optimism now as it had opened the doors for all these desperate pleas and not hearing the prayers was one thing, but once he’d heard them it was a lot harder to stop.

He groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. 

"Right, that's it!" Dean got to his feet and stormed off toward the back porch. Not ten seconds later 3 litres of icy water relocated itself from Dean Winchester's gardening bucket to the Prophet of the Lord's face. He jumped and cried out, shuddering, but it was enough. It gave Chuck a physical sensation to hold onto and he caught it, Chuck clung to it like a lifeline. Chuck, not God. Failed author, not failed creator. That's who he was **now**. He reached out clasping tightly at Dean's arm where he had come to kneel next to him and feel his temperature. Teeth clenched tightly He ground out “Migraine.” Dean nodded and with effort Chuck managed to let go of his arm, missing him already as Dean headed off somewhere, presumably to get breakfast. Chuck ground the heals of his palms into his eyes, groaning slightly, only to feel his arms being nudged slightly. He moved his hands to see Dean there with a glass of water, a couple of painkillers and an ice pack. He groaned and reached out for the water gratefully. “I think I love you!” He rasped out, causing Dean to smirk. Dean laid the cool pack against his head and covered him with a light blanket and Chuck sighed as he relaxed into a light meditation which would look like sleep to an outsider. The sooner he worked through the issue, the sooner the pain would go away. He **was** his creation and even after all these years his sister’s influence still hurt like an infected wound. The Darkness in their hearts... 'the horror, the horror,' he thought ruefully as he slipped away using his vessel to ground himself. The vessel he'd created empty of course, he'd not stolen anyone's life from them.

Dean smiled slightly as the tension left Chuck’s body. It was nice having someone to care for again and Chuck was so hopeless he probably needed it, although… Dean amended that trail of thought as he looked around him, maybe not. Chuck had seemed a lot more on top of things since he’d got here. He’d even done the laundry! Dean wondered if it was a ‘relieved from prophet duties thing’. Well, never one to be idle Dean went to go clean the kitchen listening to Metallica only very very quietly.

Chuck didn’t think he’d ever been gently guided back into his human consciousness by Metallica before, it was a surprisingly reassuring experience.

\------

Chuck had kept himself well distracted with Dean there, but the encroachment of the real world was starting to draw a little on his depression. ‘Why should he be depressed?’, he thought. ‘Dean and Sam were everything he hoped for in humanity, they’d saved the day and, really, after all they’d survived and fought through, shouldn’t **H** **e** be stronger?’ True, he’d been through a lot himself, just because most people didn’t know about them, didn’t mean there weren’t more powerful entities than him out there trying to destroy his little slice of life. That’s what the archangels had been made for, after all. What would be the point in making his earliest creations weapons if he had nothing to fear? He wasn’t responsible for everything even in his own universe, his sister had seen to that.

Still, as he had seen the angels fail and humanity's own wars escalate he had found it harder and harder to do his part. After the Apocalypse-For-Free-Will he had cut himself off, given himself a break, and now that looked like a mistake. He hadn’t even known they were in purgatory for pete’s sake!

Surprisingly, it was Dean who helped him through his depression that day. His big brother instincts must be blaring without Sammy around to take care of, because once Chuck could move Dean all but manhandled him to the table and kept a watchful eye as Chuck chowed down some of Dean's remarkably edible cooking. Dean then nodded and helped him stumble his way back to the coach. Dean didn't know what was bothering Chuck, he couldn't possibly, but somehow, perhaps through personal experience or what he'd seen in his own family, he knew that Chuck was depressed. He bullied the reluctant writer into helping with physical chores around the house and, while Chuck was weak, all that meant was that he felt more connected to his vessel when things like aching muscles and stubbed toes made themselves known. He didn't heal them. He'd not felt so present, so alive in a long time.

For instance, Chuck liked the scent of cut leather. He realised this when he found Dean ripping up old strips to re-sheath his knife handle. Of course, for a millennia old being, this should not have been a discovery. He certainly didn’t like the smell of animal carcarses in general. But he found he’d been doing that a lot lately, noticing things. Just small things, like the early morning dew on the grass, the sound of windchimes on the veranda he didn’t think he’d noticed before, the glint of Dean’s sweat on his brow when he worked and the way the light filtered through his eyes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been aware of these things before, more like he hadn’t felt anything about them, good or bad. Like he’d been watching through a grey veil that muted everything down and now, suddenly bursts of vibrant colours were standing out to him. Not everything, of course, most things still felt the same, but now he was spending enough time outside his own thoughts to notice some things. To appreciate them. Could it be Dean? He wondered. He’d left some things uncertain when he’d created humans, above anything else he’d given them potential. The Angels Were, the Humans Could-be. Maybe this was some strange facet of soul power he hadn’t predicted before, or maybe simply something he hadn’t been affected by directly enough to recognise…

Dean was also coming to realise that Chuck could have quite the sense of humour, when he wasn't moping. There were more than a few dark jokes that would've made other hunters proud and somehow his observations about people and life in general were always spot on. He thought about things in a way Dean had never considered before. He was delighted the first time he heard Chuck's sarcastic impersonation of Zachariah the Angel-of-Christmas-Screw-You and the other angels. All in all, he liked Chuck's company and that was something he could really only say about a handful of people. Somehow, he'd found himself being more open with Chuck, who would calmly sit and listen without judgement, then he had, even with Sam, always worried about setting a bad example or arguing. With Chuck he could just be... honest. And after the emotional upheavals of purgatory, he appreciated that. He could also see that Chuck was improving for him being there. There was a spring in his step now and he somehow just seemed brighter, for Dean being there. He did want to find Sammy at some point, without interrupting his perfect life if possible, but he somehow found himself increasingly reluctant to leave. This was the most peace he'd known for quite some time.

\-----

Dean wouldn’t scream in his sleep. Screaming was for people who still thought help might come if they were noisy enough, no, even in his subconscious he knew all attention would get you is more pain. So he whimpered and he whined… it didn’t take long for Chuck to get sick of it, to get sick of the waves of pain he couldn’t entirely ignore and didn’t really want too.

After the third week Dean woke to find Chuck slipping under the covers next to him.

“Go to sleep Dean.” He murmured, and Dean did. Because he was never properly awake to begin with. He slept a lot more peacefully that night. A lot more peacefully than he had slept since Sammy died the first time in fact. They didn’t talk about it, but every morning they would wake up side by side and every evening Dean would fall asleep with his arm wrapped around another warm body. Dean knew Chuck was trying to help and it did, Dean longed for physical contact, but it took him a few days to get used to it. He couldn’t’ remember ever falling asleep beside another human being before and it was nice, just… different. He knew from the way Chuck leaned into the contact he wasn’t the only one who was touch starved and so he convinced himself that he was doing this for him and that helped quiet that part of his mind that tried to kick up a fuss. It did unnerve Dean a little when, somehow, they ended up touching more often after that. Just casually, it didn't mean anything. Sitting side by side to watch a movie (Chuck had an awesome collection, by the way), or in the kitchen, but they were already so at ease with each other, saying whatever they thought and moving around each other's space, somehow, it felt alright.

And then the call came.

"Yeah?"

A breathless, "Dean?"

"Sam?"

"Garth said you called, I... Are you okay? I thought you were **gone** Dean, where've you been?"

"Yeah, well, it didn't seem like you tried all that hard to find me though did you?"

"What?!"

"Nevermind. Look, I'm staying with Chuck we're in North Creek Wyoming." 

"With Chuck? As in the Prophet?"

"No, as in Arnold Schwarzenegger Sam. Yes, the prophet!"

"But... Dean that doesn't make any sense. He was supposed to have died before Kevin took over."

"Yeah, well, he didn't. You coming to get me or what?"

"Yeah, I, okay Dean. Text me the address and I'll meet you, just"

Dean hung up. He didn't really want to hear what else Sam had to say, he was still too angry with him. An anger only compounded by his having lost Cas. 

"You know Dean," Dean turned to see Chuck leaning against the doorway, regarding him with what Dean had come to know as his 'pensive expression' (it was one Dean used to find oddly creepy coming from the mostly scatterbrained prophet, but which he had, somehow, now come to associate with weirdly accurate observations and worldly wisdom). "Sam's not responsible for you losing Cas. **Neither** of you are. And Sam wasn't wrong to look for a peaceful life when it all looked like it was over. You wouldn't be either."

"Yeah, well that doesn't help anybody. We don't just give up on family. And when Sam gets here, I'm gonna tell him that."  
  


Chuck hesitated, then seemed to force himself to say "You know he may not want to. Carry on hunting I mean. And if he doesn't..."

"If he won't do it, then I'll carry on on my own."

Dean got that unnerving shivering feeling he got sometimes when Chuck does this, like he's not just looking at you, but looking through you. 'Pull yourself together', he told himself, 'this is the guy who sobs his heart out over migraines and wakes up in a cold sweat half the mornings, then goes crazy over some lost book draft, he's not scary.' Dean had, in fact, brought Chuck orange juice and a coffee to help him get out of bed that morning.

"I could come with you." Dean stared at Chuck, his face betrayed a hint of anxiety, but was otherwise composed. How? Just, how could this person have seen their whole lives and want to be any part of it? But then he remembered how much better Chuck had been doing since he arrived, how he'd even been able to get himself out of bed before 8 the other morning and was buzzing with excitement when he finished a draft in just three hours. Dean swallowed feeling a little guilty. Chuck was desperate, which was why hunting was the last thing he needed. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Chuck's expression hardened. 

"I'm not helpless, Dean." God said, and why did he say that? That was exactly the point! He was supposed to look helpless, to be the sort of person no one would dream of coming too for help, why would he ruin his carefully constructed image like that?! Frustrated with himself, he decided to back track a little.

"I mean, I wouldn't fight monsters with you, obviously." He slouched a little and rolled his eyes as if the very idea were ludicrous. It probably did seem so to Dean, and why did that bother him? "But I can come along for the ride, look at the lore... it's not like I've got anything else to do, and who knows? Might even give me inspiration for my work!"

"Yeah, I think Sammy and I have inspired enough of your work Chuck," which, okay, fair... "and even just being around me is dangerous. And don't say it's the same here, because it's not. Okay. No one knows I'm here."

Chuck nodded, but stepped casually into Dean's space and Dean was uncomfortably reminded of how stubborn the man could be. "I wasn't asking your permission." He spoke lowly so Dean had to lean forward a little to hear the words, but it was all the more effective for that. Like Alan Rickman or something. "But if you must know, it's not much of a life for me here either." He smiled and stepped back, "I'll go pack." He called over his shoulder as he headed back up the stairs. 

"What the Hell?" Dean stared.

\----

As he was packing up Chuck reflected on how important Dean had become in his life. Was this how Sam felt? No wonder they were so dependent on each other. It was nice to be able to rely on someone. To have and give that support. Was this another of his incredibly selfish actions? Probably, but Dean had brought him the closest he'd felt to alive and cared for in a long long time and he wasn't going to throw that away. He'd have to be careful of course. There was a risk Dean would die when they were together, as a hunter it was inevitable sooner or later. Chuck zipped up his bag. Well he'd just have to make sure he had a series of lucky, but believable escapes. He could manage it, he'd been doing it since the beginning of time, after all. And maybe he just didn't want to be left behind....


End file.
